


Sine Labore Nihil

by tinypurplefishes



Series: Laurel: A Very Long and Unusual Second Life [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gen, Hogwarts, Horcruxes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypurplefishes/pseuds/tinypurplefishes
Summary: Sirius is free from Azkaban and Laurel Potter's off to Hogwarts again, this time with little brother Harry in tow. Conflict continues to prevail with Albus Dumbledore, who eagerly awaits what she had promised for the release of Sirius Black--Voldemort's first found horcrux. Snape has yet to confront her on the surprise-father-front, but his unfair treatment of the young and innocent Harry may lead to an outburst from a certain Laurel Potter.





	1. Prologue: Initia

**Laurel: A Very Long and Very Unusual Second Life**

**Part Four: Sine Labore Nihil [Nothing Without Work]**

**Prologue:** **Initia [Beginnings]**

**1 September 1991. 11:02am**

A high whistle filled the air as a scarlet-red and black train hissed to a start, a grey plume of smoke billowing in the air and streaming slowly along the tops of the train cars. The smoke followed the gaining movement of the train, drifting lazily up towards the mostly clear blue sky as the train began to leave the station. Within the first train car, two children were peering out of the small window on the door that had been hastily closed a minute previously, as soon as the train had stuttered to a start.

The smaller of the two, Harry, with his wild hair and bright emerald eyes, had his nose almost pressed against the glass of the window. Harry’s gaze followed the bounding movement of a shaggy, black dog—the recently exonerated Sirius Black in his Animagus form—as he zig-zagged through the hustling witches and wizards still gathered on the platform. Sirius seemed to not mind if he brushed his less-than-clean hair across the legs of those more expensively dressed, also seeming to delight in the havoc he was causing.

The taller of the two, Laurel, shared an amused glance with the man who was following the dog listlessly—her and her brother’s adoptive father, Remus. Laurel gave both the man and the dog a quick wave and nudged Harry to do the same. Soon the train had made its way out of King’s Cross, out of the grey and dismal city, and into the sweeping green hills of the countryside. Laurel nudged her brother again, this time prompting him to shuffle along the narrow hall to find an empty compartment for the journey to Hogwarts.

“Did Ron tell you which compartment he was gonna get?” Laurel asked with a yawn, not used to getting up by the early, _early_ time of nine in the morning. Despite the two hour window, they had arrived somewhat late to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, due to an unforeseeable encounter of Sirius with a particularly unruly gaggle of ducks that had invaded their backyard. Luckily, they had made it just in time to board the train and were safely on the way to school for another year at Hogwarts—or for their first year at Hogwarts in Harry’s case.

“No...” Harry said sheepishly, Laurel was not surprised by his answer and continued to survey the compartments as they passed, huffing with the weight of her trunk as she dragged it.

Laurel’s attention snapped to her brother as she heard a low smash and a high squawk, “Whoa, Harry...careful with his cage.” She steadied his hand, which had the origin of the aforementioned squawk within, his feathers ruffling. With her interference in Harry’s intended upbringing, Laurel had been slightly worried as to how she would find Harry’s beloved pet owl Hedwig. That was until they had stopped by Diagon Alley a week before in an effort to locate their school books, and a runaway snowy owl from Eeylop’s Owl Emporium had flown into Sirius’ still-tangled mane of curls. After some manoeuvring, Sirius had been freed and Harry had persuaded Remus to allow him to keep the owl as a pet.

Harry smiled sheepishly up at her and righted Hedwig’s cage, whispering a short apology to the ruffled owl, Hedwig pecked daintily at her wings but otherwise gave no response. Laurel smiled at the two, then turned her gaze back to the compartments, and brightened as she spotted that it was full of boys with bright ginger hair. She threw out a hand and stopped Harry, who looked back in confusion. Without explaining, she slid the door open and shoved inside.

“Fred. George. Ron.” Laurel greeted each with a smile, the twins bounded up and took hold of her, managing to lift and wedge up in the overhead storage with the others, “Whoa, whoa...” Laurel stopped her brother from fully entering with a hand, “No little brothers in the big kids’ compartment.”

“What? C’mon...” Harry groaned, Laurel shot him an amused yet entirely unapologetic smile.

“That means you too, Ronnie-kins,” Fred added with a huff, swiping the imaginary sweat from his forehead.

“Ugh, you three are the worst,” Ron mumbled to himself around a liquorice wand, seeming torn between glaring annoyed at them and indulging in his delicious treat. Seeing that her trunk was safely stored, Laurel edged back out of the compartment and side-stepped a few feet to peer into the next, spotting two people sitting timidly within—obviously first years. Narrowing her eyes and stepping closer, she examined the two and her face lit up in recognition.

One of the two was a girl with copious amounts of bushy, brown hair and a rather large text book sitting heavily in her lap. The other was a boy with a round face and a rather energetic toad in his hands struggling to get free. Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Taking a moment to calm her fan-girl sensibilities, Laurel looked back to see Harry and Ron catching up in front of the compartment she and the twins had claimed. With a hushed shout, Laurel called them both over, they complied with annoyed reluctance at being disturbed.

Laurel slid open the door and poked her head through the gap, both Neville and Hermione turned to stare at her with wide eyes, she smiled wide and spoke, “Room for two more first years?”

“Uh...” Neville gulped and his fingers slipped, the toad in his hands—Trevor, Laurel recalled—leaped out of his lap and bounced towards the cracked open door. With a shriek, Laurel ducked onto her knees and slapped her hands down on the floor, trying to trap the toad. Alas, she had not caught the shifty toad. Laurel spied the toad sitting stalled near her knee and quickly wrapped her hands around it.

“Holy...whoa, keep a tighter grip next time,” she hurriedly passed the slimy toad off to Neville, who mumbled apologies and agreed readily to her suggestion.

“Why didn’t you use your wand? I think a freezing charm would have caught it faster. _Immobulus_ , isn’t it?” Hermione spoke smartly, Laurel glanced at her to see a look of disapproval staring back.

“Uh...” Laurel hummed with considerably less intelligence, she stood up and dusted off her knees, “Sure, I could’ve done that...but it’s never good to rely on magic too much.” She shifted her gaze awkwardly, not wanting to admit that her wand had found its way stuffed into the back of her spare jeans earlier that morning, and was currently sitting in her trunk where it was stored in the next compartment over. She had been too lazy to locate it, when it was not likely she would need it until the first day of classes—runaway toads being an uncommon occurrence.

Hermione pursed her lips and hummed thoughtfully, seeming to agree somewhat to Laurel’s sentiment, “Are these the two first years you were talking about?” She studied them up and down, “They can stay, I suppose.”

“Great!” Laurel smiled widely, stepping back out of the compartment and ushering the reluctant Ron and Harry in, Harry shot her a wary look, likely at her insistence on shoving the four of them together, “Well...I’ll leave you four to your introductions...I’m Laurel, by the way. Uh, I’ll be in the compartment over if you need anything.” She looked meaningfully at Harry, who narrowed his eyes and seemed to blush, perceiving her to be smothering him.

Shooting them one last pleased grin, Laurel slid the door shut and slinked back to her own compartment, internally hoping that the four would become great friends sooner rather than later. As she entered the pink-smoke filled compartment she had relegated herself to by befriending the twins all those years ago, Laurel thought that perhaps that was being a bit too optimistic—nothing ever seemed to go completely to plan. A low yowl came from the cage she had shoved onto the seat beside her, inside Luke the cat glared his bright blue eyes at her, as if she was the culprit for the smoke. Laurel could not bring herself to be too moved by his plight—at least the smoke smelled of strawberries, most smoke created by the twins usually smelled of nastier things, namely sulfur.


	2. Constringitur

**Laurel: A Very Long and Very Unusual Second Life**

**Part Four: Sine Labore Nihil [Nothing Without Work]**

**Chapter One:** **Constringitur [Frozen]**

**2 September 1991. 7:49am**

After only one night at Hogwarts, Laurel was already experiencing doubts as to how she was to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort and save the friends and family she had come to love outside of her love for them as characters. The most pressing matter was Professor Quirrel. Laurel had never been the most apt of people, but it seemed entirely idiotic to overlook the first appearance of Voldemort after his supposed defeat on the night her parents died. She comforted herself by remembering that she had a lot to deal with—namely the horcrux lying in wait at the bottom of her trunk, and the debacle with Sirius’ trial. Still, Laurel was kicking herself the next morning at breakfast.

A piece of buttered bread in hand, Laurel stared up at the head table with wide eyes at the aforementioned Professor Quirrel, watching as he stuttered and stumbled in his conversation with the sullen Professor Snape. Nervous fingers periodically came up to adjust the purple turban that was wrapped tightly around his head, under which Voldemort was hidden. It seemed almost ridiculous, a dark wizard resigned to living under a stuffy turban. It did not seem so ridiculous to Laurel, an icy-cold feeling of terror was eking into her veins. The man who murdered her parents hidden in the very place that was supposed to be impenetrable and entirely safe.

“Laurel, you look pale...very pale.” A condescending voice brought her out of her stupor, she realised that she had been staring for quite some time, the buttered bread raised in front of her as if in defence from Quirrel and his turban-hidden dark lord. It was Percy Weasley, he stared at her with concern, but still managed to make her feel incredibly stupid.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, quickly snapping a bite of the bread. Laurel began to study the timetable in her hand, not really seeing the words. Instead, she ruminated on her predicament, cursing her astounding ability to forget events that she knew for a certainty would come to pass. _Quirrel_ , she thought to herself with a grimace, _something has to be done about that_. In another effort to lighten her guilt, Laurel reminded herself that even if she had remembered, she was not likely to cause Dumbledore to second guess himself. Being a man of at least one century in age, it was somewhat understandable that he thought of himself as a person unable to be tricked. Though Laurel knew that future events were likely to prove that wrong for Dumbledore.

With a sigh, she rubbed a finger over her tired eyes and consigned herself to additional night of plotting. She glared down at a thin strip of yellowed parchment that lay innocently on the table before her, thin, emerald lettering peeking out from where it had been folded haphazardly. Dumbledore had promptly sent her an owl that very morning, not wasting time in his quest for possession of Voldemort’s horcrux; he had ordered her to meet with him that afternoon. Obviously, Laurel could not be trusted with such a dangerous object. _Never mind the fact that I found it in the first place, and have kept it safe ever since_ , she thought with derision.

“You don’t seem okay...”

“Never have I seen someone glare at porridge with such intensity.” George agreed with his twin. Laurel stumbled out of her angry thoughts once more with a weak smile directed at her friends. She waved them off with words not entirely truthful and concentrated wholeheartedly on consuming the piece of toast, which had since turned cold and quite unappetising. Looking down at her timetable—this time seeing the printed words—she saw that she had Transfiguration first up. Laurel brightened fractionally—despite McGonagall’s decidedly severe method of teaching, she had always been fair and impartial in doing so. _Transfiguration first, Quirrel later_ , Laurel decided to herself.

**2 September 1991. 4:34pm**

Laurel sat cross-legged in a small alcove behind a suit of polished armour waiting. Across from her the gargoyles poised at the base of the winding stairs to Dumbledore’s office glanced periodically at her with suspicion. The meeting had been set for half-four, Laurel was waiting ten minutes after this to arrive. Laurel admitted that this was somewhat—entirely—petty, but could not find it in herself to care. Ten minutes was not a long time to wait in a life as long as Dumbledore’s, Laurel reasoned that he would likely think nothing of it.

Glancing down at her misshapen jumper pocket, where Voldemort’s diadem horcrux had been hidden for the duration of her walk from Gryffindor Tower, Laurel thought that perhaps she should amend her decision to wait ten minutes. A shiver ran through her, the creeping feeling of cold and terror that accompanied the horcrux was beginning to overwhelm her, it seemed as though it was beginning to seep into her veins. _Five minutes is enough_ , she assured herself with an officious nod as she stood and slipped out of the alcove.

The gargoyles stared at her through narrowed eyes, Laurel felt unfairly judged by them. Narrowing her eyes right back, Laurel slid her hand into her pocket. Shuddering as she accidentally touched the diadem—she faltered as a shiver ran up her finger, up her arm and settled in her chest—Laurel snapped out of her daze and snatched the tiny piece of parchment that had been snuggled in with the horcrux.

Sighing at the password that Dumbledore had transcribed at the bottom of the note as if it was an afterthought, Laurel spoke to the waiting gargoyles, “Avocado crisps dipped in pistachio yoghurt.” They shared a glance, then there was a scratching sound as the stone began to move and twirl out of the way, the spiral staircase lifting out of the ground and winding its way up to Dumbledore’s office. “That was oddly specific,” Laurel huffed to herself as she hurriedly stepped up the stairs, clicking open the golden, curved handle of the door, and promptly entering the Headmaster’s office.

“Miss Potter,” Dumbledore greeted her soundly, Laurel jumped slightly at the abruptness of his voice. He was standing to the side, shining brightly from his silvery robes as the star pattern decorating them alternated between blinding white and stark blue colours—likely charmed to do so. _Say what you will about Dumbledore, he has never been afraid to express himself through a strange set of robes_ , Laurel thought grudgingly.

Before she focused too hard on said robes, Laurel strode across the room, bypassing Dumbledore, and sat in the chair across from his desk. She looked back at him expectantly, wishing for him to follow her example and sit at his desk, _straight to business_. Laurel could have predicted that Dumbledore would not do so. He simply returned to his studying of the fine-stone basin in front of him.

Despite herself, Laurel was enraptured by the sight of what she knew to be the Pensieve. A stone basin filled with water, the water interspersed with shining, white strands of memory. The ability to look upon any memory one so chose to was one that interested Laurel. _Perhaps then I wouldn’t forget important things...like the existence of Lord Voldemort on the back of the new Defence professor’s head_ , Laurel mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Though she was interested by the Pensieve, she was more interested in finishing the meeting with Dumbledore.

“Professor, I have the horcrux. Do you have a way of destroying it?” Laurel asked firmly, raising her brow towards the Headmaster.

Dumbledore gave a long sigh, “It worries me, my dear. How you seem to distrust me.” He shot her a tired smile, Laurel grimaced but remained unrelenting.

“This horcrux is a piece of the man who murdered my parents—and a lot of other good witches and wizards. You must be able to understand some of my distrust.” Laurel huffed in annoyance, scratching lightly at the material of her jumper where the diadem was hidden. Dumbledore hummed lightly, his eyes lowering in understanding. Laurel thought suddenly of the one person who she knew for a fact caused Dumbledore grief—his sister, Ariana. Dumbledore himself had hunted down the dark wizard Grindelwald for the part he played in Ariana’s death—never mind his own part in her death—so perhaps he honestly could understand what Laurel was trying to say.

Dumbledore continued to say nothing, but Laurel saw his gaze drop to where her hands were fidgeting around the protruding shape of the diadem. Her fingers stilled and she furrowed her brow fractionally.

“It’s in your pocket?” Dumbledore asked hesitantly. Laurel remained silent, a sense of foreboding rising as she realised his tone to be incredulous, “A piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul is resting in your pocket, no protection from any who would think to take it.”

Laurel narrowed her eyes at her Headmaster in confusion, “I’m a third year...not exactly an ace at charms, yet. No one but you even knows about the horcruxes, anyway. I didn’t think it to be in much danger from thieves.”

Another long sigh from Dumbledore, “Laurel, this has gone far enough,” he said simply.

“What?” Laurel said abruptly, rising from her chair and placing a steadying hand on its back. Dumbledore took a step toward her and her gaze snapped to his hand where she suddenly saw that he had his wand grasped between its long, spindly fingers, “What?” Laurel repeated for lack of a better word. She nudged the chair backwards across the floor as she backed away, swallowing around her dry throat.

“ _Immobulus_ ,” Dumbledore said simply with a swish of his wand, an electric blue pulse of magic shot at Laurel and hit her in an instant. Laurel’s heartbeat was heavy in her chest as she found herself unable to move, Dumbledore remained calm while she tried to open her mouth to speak or shout or scream. But she could not move. Her mind reeled as she realised what was happening—the Headmaster of Hogwarts had attacked her.

Dumbledore approached her steadily, hand raising to open the pocket of her sweater. Laurel tried to flinch away but it was as if she was made of stone; Dumbledore smiled as he surfaced the discoloured gold diadem, fingers running reverently over the twisted metal, and faltering on the shining emerald-green gem set in the centre. She tried to scream and rage at the man who had betrayed her trust, but remained frozen.

If anything, Laurel wished to warn him from holding the diadem, from touching it with such veneration. It was a dark object, one likely to whisper in the mind of any who touch it, to say anything and all to pull them under its spell. For all his actual intellect, Dumbledore had proven in the alternate future Laurel was so desperate to change that he was susceptible to such a spell. On a crazed whim, he had tried on the Gaunt ring and attempted to use the Resurrection stone embedded within to speak to his long deceased sister. It had caused his death.

As Dumbledore continued to inspect the horcrux, his face changed, likely as the darkness began to spread its tendrils out toward him. Laurel commanded him in her thoughts to put it down, hoping that he might hear and comply. As if it had worked, Dumbledore placed the diadem on his desk, then returned his attention back to her.

“Now, Miss Potter...” Dumbledore pursed his lips and softened his eyes, “I trust you’ll not tell any of what has happened here. It was not your place to keep the horcrux for yourself, I mean to bring an end to Voldemort the same as you.” Laurel willed her eyes to narrow, but as they would not she simply thought of terrible incidents happening to Dumbledore, willing him to hear them despite her desire to not have him anywhere near her mind. “I _am_ sorry, my dear. But I trust you enough to leave you your memories,” Dumbledore seemed to hesitate, fingers fidgeting over his wand as he stared intently into Laurel’s frozen eyes. She relented in her thoughts and pleaded with any that would listen, Laurel wanted nothing more than to move freely, to leave this office and never speak with Dumbledore again. She thought she could trust him; she was wrong.

Dumbledore sighed and, as if he had heard her thoughts—which he very possibly could have—he raised his wand and quietly said, “ _Stupefy_ ,” and the world was dark.


	3. Praesidium

**Laurel: A Very Long and Very Unusual Second Life**

**Part Four: Sine Labore Nihil [Nothing Without Work]**

**Chapter Two:** **Praesidium [Protection]**

**3 September 1991. 3:22am**

Laurel woke with a start. Her gasping breaths were loud in the otherwise silent room, she opened her eyes to nothing but darkness. Gulping around her unbearably dry throat, Laurel slowed her breaths in an attempt to calm herself, and sat up, feeling the squishy surface beneath her. Laurel determined that she was in a bed. Feeling to the side, she noted that the bed was surrounded by heavy, velvet curtains on each side; she was in a four-poster bed at Hogwarts. The calm silence, stillness of the inky-black darkness and the knowledge that she was safe at Hogwarts made her breathing slow to an acceptable level, she noticed her heart slowing with it and was surprised that she had not felt it—perhaps due to an overabundance of the sensation, she mused to herself with a grimace.

Her heart gave a loud thump against her chest as she considered what she had decided a moment earlier: that she was safe at Hogwarts. Laurel remembered what had happened before she awoke—Dumbledore had frozen her, stole the horcrux and stunned her into unconsciousness. _Not so safe at Hogwarts, then_ , Laurel revised her statement. A feeling of unease rising within at the statement which would usually be paradoxical, as many knew Hogwarts as a home away from home, a place where one could never be truly hurt. Laurel should have known better, but it seemed she was exceedingly liable to ignoring her own foreknowledge.

Laurel cursed this trait of hers, but decided to strike it from her mind for the moment, instead parting the curtains with shaking fingers from the cold of the night air and reaching out toward the side where her bedside table would be—assuming she had, in fact, found herself in her own bed in Gryffindor Tower. Her fingers met hard wood and she felt somewhat better, despite the stinging sensation rising through her fingers from their hard landing on the table. Laurel walked her fingers forward and quirked a smile as they met her wand, wrapping them around it to bring it into her bed with her, the curtains fluttered shut again with a whisper.

Laurel muttered a quick, “ _Lumos_ ,” but was remiss when the spell did not work. With a furrowed brow, Laurel brought her left hand up to her wand and rolled her eyes in the direction that was most likely skywards as she realised that the small, twisted knot near the base of her wand was located far away from where her fingers had clasped. Laurel wordlessly twirled her wand so that the aforementioned knot was hidden underneath her thumb, and repeated the spell with a tiny flick.

She squinted her eyes at the bright, shining light that erupted from the tip of her wand, smiling as her dark-wood wand came into focus before her. Gratitude swelled up within her at the sight, but tampered down as she realised that Dumbledore was undeserving of such praise—being that he had only decided to forgo stealing her wand after attacking her, and had done nothing but make her life, and the lives of those she loved, unnecessarily complicated.

Deciding to remove Dumbledore from her thoughts for the time being, Laurel focused on the room around her. She pulled the curtain back again and squinted her eyes against the darkness, to her right she saw Alicia Spinnet sleeping soundly, her curtains tied back, with an impressive pool of drool collected near her chin. Mentally filing that image for later torment, Laurel glanced toward the other side of her to see that Mei Nakano also had her curtains tied back, and was sleeping with a grace that frankly astounded Laurel. No one seemed to be panicking, which Laurel counted towards her theory that Dumbledore had taken her to the dorm and made it appear as though she had simply crashed in her bed to go to sleep early.

For a final time, Laurel pushed aside the strangeness of Dumbledore’s actions and focused on her surroundings. Leaning forward and pushing the tip of her wand against the bedside table, Laurel saw that the emerald-green alarm clock adorned with the yellow mirror-K’s of the Kenmare Kestrels—Mei’s favourite Quidditch team—that Mei had bought the year before—after the fifth time she had slept in—proclaimed it to be almost a quarter to four in the morning. Laurel had lost about twelve hours...half a day. That creeping feeling of dread began to settle over her once more, she felt violated and incredibly unsafe. It was at that moment that she saw a streaking shadow leap up onto the bed beside her, Laurel startled and whipped her wand toward where the shadow had moved to.

Laurel’s wand hit it with a dull snap, an annoyed hiss followed. She realised it was only Luke the cat with a sigh of relief, her wand hand snapped back and his creamy-white fur became illuminated. Luke’s icy blue eyes seemed colder still as they glared wholeheartedly at her. In true-cat fashion, Luke simply settled low over his paws and laid down on the bed, closed his eyes and began to purr. Laurel ruffled the fur around his ears, then followed his lead and settled back down in her bed. Laurel decided that she would sleep the remaining two and a half hours until her stomach demanded she get up for breakfast, then she would worry about invasions of privacy and teachers attacking students. And evil wizards hiding on the back of a certain professor’s head. Sleep first, panic later.

**3 September 1991. 7:05am**

It was an early morning for Laurel Potter, she felt as though she had not slept a minute. _The giant shadows under my eyes would certainly suggest that_ , Laurel thought with a grimace as she rubbed at said shadows with hesitant fingers. Beside her, it seemed as though her younger brother felt much the same way, his wild, dark hair drifting a few inches in the air above his head, his glasses sliding listlessly down the bridge of his nose. After a nudge from Laurel, Harry has risen from his stupor to sip every now and then from a glass of pumpkin juice, as well as take a bite from some marmalade-laden toast.

“What’s up? You look tired...” Laurel said abruptly, belatedly cursing the aforementioned abruptness. Harry looked up at her dazedly with a furrowed brow.

“So do you!” He said defensively, taking another bite, then smiling wide at her offended look. Laurel raised one eyebrow and tried to convey that there would be consequence unknown to even her if he did not answer her question. Harry sighed and rested her chin on his fist, “It’s Snape.”

“Ugh, of course it is,” Laurel turned to glare up at the head table, but was remiss to find that Snape was not there. Quirrel, however, received the full force of her dirty look, and paled dramatically, the hand holding his goblet shaking so hard that juice spilled over the side. Laurel did not feel sympathy for the man with Voldemort hiding on the back of his head, but nonetheless stopped her glare and turned back to her brother, “What’d he do? Besides the usual scare tactics?”

Harry huffed a tired laugh, “He called me, uh, ‘our new celebrity’...and then proceeded to ask a bunch of questions only _Hermione_ would know.”

Laurel barely restrained herself from striking the person beside her with an angrily flailing arm, and took a deep, calming breath. She thought that his avoidance of her would transfer to Harry, but _obviously not_.

“I’ll yell at him later for you, I think I have potions today,” Laurel said with a comforting smile, then reached down to pull her bag up onto the bench beside her. She rifled around her bag, stopping when she heard a disconcerted yelp from Harry beside her.

“What! No!” Harry stared at her with wide, horrified eyes, his head shook emphatically, “No you will not...I’ll deal with it myself! Okay...” He looked at her hopefully, Laurel slumped in her seat.

“Well,” Laurel started, then stopped and examined her brother, “Fine...but if you keep looking as though you went three rounds with a bear, then I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Fine...” Harry looked immensely relieved—though his protests did not sway Laurel in the least, she intended on still having that talk with Snape—he took a final bite of his toast, “Thanks for offering, though.”

“Offering what?” A voice piped in from over Laurel’s shoulder, she turned to see Fred looking at her excitedly, George’s head was peeking around his twin’s shoulder with a look of equal excitement.

“Offering none of your business, Fred,” Laurel said simply, finishing off her goblet of pumpkin juice with her nose wrinkled to stave off the taste—whoever thought of that flavour must have burned their tastebuds off in some unfortunate accident, but not much else was available.

“You’re no fun!” George proclaimed with a pout, Laurel hummed in agreement, the words not striking her as George might have liked.

Laurel turned her attention back to her bag, and rifled further until she managed to surface her timetable. She pushed her bag back down under the seat and flattened her timetable against the table in front of her—it had regrettably not seen an easy life in the depths of her backpack, and was riddled with creases. After a moment of scrutinising, Laurel determined that she had Potions in the very last period of the day. Though Laurel would prefer not to initiate contact with Snape, it just had to be done. She had removed the negative influence of the Dursley’s from Harry’s life, now she had to do the same with Snape.

**3 September 1991. 3:03pm**

It had been a typically uncomfortable Potions lesson for the third year Gryffindors and whichever House’s third years happened to be paired with them for that year—Laurel was sure that it was her presence that caused Snape to restrain his verbal abuse of students, as the horror stories persevered throughout the rest of his classes. However, there had been some conflict when an unknown student—who Laurel knew to be one or both of the Weasley twins—had slipped a newt’s eye into a Ravenclaw student’s potion. The resultant outward blast of molten, hot potion had thankfully been restrained by a quick shielding spell by that Ravenclaw student, but Laurel felt that if the culprit had been known, some light torture would have occurred.

Nonetheless, the lesson ended promptly at three in the afternoon, and all students hurriedly rushed from the classroom. Laurel halted just before she exited the classroom, staring forlornly after Fred and George who were bounding down the corridor with fanged Frisbees in hand, likely intent upon causing some property damage, or at least some more work for Filch to deal with.

Laurel steeled herself and turned warily to face Snape, who had not noticed she remained in the class. His head was tilted down as he furiously wrote notes on the homework he had set over the holidays, glaring at the parchment as if it had personally offended him, Laurel could indeed see that the page was almost covered in bright red ink.

“Professor?” She started, voice hard. Snape’s head snapped up to where she was standing and she saw his eyes widen minutely, before they narrowed once more in his usual disdainful stare.

“Class is over, Miss Potter,” he said with a finality that Laurel resented greatly.

“I wanted to speak with you about my brother.” Snape’s gaze rolled upwards and a sneer overtook his countenance automatically, Laurel took in this sneer and anger rose like fire through her chest and seemed to take form in her words, “Yes!” Laurel exclaimed loudly, causing Snape to turn his glare towards her once more, “That’s what I’m here to talk about...your _frankly_ unfair, completely biased opinion of my brother!” Laurel took a calming breath, but hurriedly began speaking once more as she saw that Snape was about to take advantage of her silence, “He is not James Potter.”

At her words, Snape faltered, to such a small degree that none who expected such a reaction would catch it. Laurel stared into his cold, black eyes and nodded emphatically, “He isn’t! He really isn’t, okay?” She saw that he was about to protest, and held up a stilling hand—a small part of her thought that him being her professor might warrant a less controlling gesture, but a larger part of her argued that his...decidedly _personal_ tie to her overrode this. Nonetheless, it worked, and Snape quietened once more. Laurel gulped around her dry throat and tried to prepare herself for the unpleasant argument they were surely about to have—the thought of poor Harry being attacked by Snape helped immensely.


	4. Inceptum

**Laurel: A Very Long and Very Unusual Second Life**

**Part Four: Sine Labore Nihil [Nothing Without Work]**

**Chapter Three:** **Inceptum [Initiative]**

**3 September 1991. 3:09pm**

The room was silent, save the tinny echo of something dripping in the far corner of the Potions classroom—likely some fluorescent goo escaping one of the many glass jars holding various ingredients and petrified magical animals that lined the back wall. Laurel took a deep breath and walked forward from where she stood in the doorway, stopping a few feet from the front of Snape’s desk to address him fully.

“I know that you don’t exactly like kids...but even you have to admit that Harry has done _nothing_ to you. It’s...frankly, childish,” Snape’s eyes narrowed at the word, Laurel felt a flicker of fear despite herself, “to judge him based on your hatred for his...our father.” Laurel’s gaze drifted nervously to the floor. “If anything, judge him by your love for our mother...” Laurel’s lips pursed as she remembered Lily Potter, a woman full of love and life who Laurel had missed dearly for the decade she had been gone.

“Miss Potter,” Snape said, his jaw clenched with either anger or despair—Laurel hoped it might be the latter but logic dictated it was the former—he continued promptly, “Please leave.”

Laurel stared at the man sitting before her with sad, tired eyes, she examined his sallow skin, his cold, dark eyes and his stringy, dark hair. To her, he seemed quite sad—and this made her sad. She pulled her backpack tighter around her arms and backed away towards the door, pausing only to speak one last time, “I will not allow you to hurt my brother.” Laurel stared into his eyes, trying to convey the deepest sincerity of her words with their shared gaze.

Without another word, Laurel turned and left the classroom, and hurried down the abandoned corridor. Her footsteps echoed as loud as her heartbeat as it thumped angrily in her chest, she gasped a breath that regrettably hid a sob and rounded the corner, promptly colliding with another body. Her arms shot out to grasp at the other’s arms, she startled out of her oblivion and stared into the wide open, warm brown eyes of her assailant.

The warm eyes and the bright orange shock of hair contrasted so greatly to the cause of her upset that Laurel almost cried out from surprise and happiness. She spied the tiny, darker freckle under his left eye and fell gratefully into Fred’s open arms. Laurel stood on the tips of her toes and buried her chin into Fred’s neck, and spied George lingering just behind him, she threw out her arm and grabbed at his shirt sleeve, pulling him into the embrace.

“Are you okay? What did Snape do?” Fred asked in a mumble against the top of her head.

“Did he bring out the water torture?” George asked with worry clouding his tone.

“Did he pull your teeth with pliers?”

“Did he take points away from Gryffindor?”

Fred gasped at what George had suggested, pulling away to stare into Laurel’s eyes with mock horror twisting his face into a silent scream. Laurel snorted a giggle and buried her face in her hand, a blush rose to stain her cheeks as she felt truly tickled by their efforts to cheer up their clearly upset friend. _These are good people_ , Laurel thought simply, pulling Fred back into the hug, _these are my friends_.

**4 September 1991. 5:29pm**

In Gryffindor Tower the fire was blazing, the armchairs were comparable to marshmallows and the children were laughing and talking amongst themselves gleefully. Laurel was sitting by herself in an armchair that had been shoved hastily against the wall to make way for the epic game of Exploding Snap that had unfolded on the floor in the middle of the Common Room. As another pair of once beautiful eyebrows met their match in the incendiary cards, Laurel felt no remorse for sitting the game out. Though, she would rather be spending her time on a more enjoyable alternative.

To others, Laurel seemed lost in her thoughts, but to Laurel she was intensely focused on just how exactly she was going to deal with the Voldemort-is-on-the-back-of-Quirrel’s-head situation. Ultimately, Laurel decided that, as Voldemort was a veritable leech sucking Quirrel’s power from him, he was only as powerful as Quirrel was—which Voldemort was well aware of, which is why he would eventually try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. If he succeeded in this, he would regain his power. Thus, Laurel would have to steal the Philosopher’s Stone before he could attempt to—as Harry would have done originally.

Laurel could leave the situation alone and it would likely resolve itself with Harry defeating Voldemort for the second time, but big sisters did not let their little brothers become exposed to evil dark lords. Surprised at the swiftness in which she had theoretically resolved the Voldmort-leech debacle, Laurel treated herself to a Jammie Dodger from the shiny silver tray on the table beside her—the House Elves were very good at anticipating the needs of the Gryffindors, which included vast quantities of biscuits after long school days.

She smiled around the biscuit as a loud, panicked shout overtook the room; a plume of smoke rose steadily from the floor as a First year predictably lost a hand. The rest of the room erupted into cheers, the First year’s opponent pumped a fist into the air in victory. As Laurel finished off the biscuit, and nibbled at the crumbs that decorated her fingers, she thought of another reason to take the Philosopher’s Stone: incentive. If she took the Stone, she might have an advantage over Dumbledore, after he stole the Diadem from her. Additionally, her presence in this world seemed to disturb Dumbledore, as if he knew that his plans were being subverted as he created them. Evidently, this made him more susceptible to immoral actions—she did not exactly trust him not to use the Stone for his own benefit.

It disturbed her slightly to overlook her main mission—finding and destroying the horcruxes. Laurel reconciled this with the thought that they were not so readily available to her and might take years to find, even with knowing where some were. The Stone, however, was awaiting her in the very castle she was in. The lack of equal standing with Dumbledore disturbed her greatly, and she would do almost anything to rectify that. The horcruxes could wait.

**6 September 1991. 11:08am.**

Greenhouse atmosphere in Greenhouse Three on the first Friday of the new school year was decidedly relaxed. Professor Sprout was evidently feeling generous, which Laurel thought might have something to do with the fact that half of the class were Hufflepuffs—whom she was Head of House for—and had broken out the previous year’s Puffapods. Puffapods were quite delightful magical plants--each pod filled with dozens of beans that would instantly flower upon contact with a solid object.

Each student was allotted a single pod, Laurel was pleased see that hers was a particularly soft and sweet shade of pink, with the darker splotches being an exciting hot-rod red. The only downside to Puffapods was the strong aroma of mooncalf dung that followed each pod. Mooncalf dung smelled similar to any other kind of dung—so, it was an ultimately unpleasant addition.

“You may open your pods now...quickly, all!” Professor Sprout beamed at her students, her cheeks ruddy with the usual pleasant blush.

Laurel ducked out of the way as Fred lunged for the knife that was sitting precariously atop a tower of muddy books in the centre of their table, Cedric Diggory did the same, colliding comically with George who remained unfazed—obviously used to unsafe knife handling practices.

“Careful, you tosser...” Laurel said, punctuating the insult with a slap to Fred’s shoulder, careful to move out of the way of the knife as Fred directed it towards the Puffapod in his lap, “Put it on the table! What—!” Laurel stared at him in disbelief, and hurriedly gripped his hand in hers, stilling the knife before it would swing downwards through the Puffapod, and likely through his leg. She prised his fingers from the knife and picked up his Puffapod, almost dropping it from the stickiness of the pod’s membrane.

“Hey!” Fred protested, Laurel stared at him with no remorse, and dropped the pod onto the table, it jiggled slightly at the impact, the shining beans inside jostling around.

“Why is it so sticky, anyway?” Laurel asked with a snort.

Fred smiled widely, “No reason...” Laurel stared at him with suspicion, but decided it to not be worth the effort.

“Hey!” George whispered harshly, leaning into the table and looking around at the others, Fred, Laurel and Cedric moved forward, the latter two with mistrust lighting their eyes. They were right to be mistrustful, as George promptly pulled a firework out of his pocket and showed them through loosely cupped palms.

“Oh, man...” Cedric said with a groan, paling slightly. He was likely not excited to be a part of anything disrupting Professor Sprout’s class.

“I know, right!” George grinned at him excitedly, deciding that his groan was in excitement rather than trepidation, “I wonder what’ll happen if I put it under one of the pods...”

Laurel gave him a deadpan stare, “It just might explode.”

“That’s the plan!” George was unfazed, he lifted up the bulging Puffapod and slid the firework under it. The pod settled around the firework with a wiggle, Fred helpfully whipped out his wand and pointed it at the fuse.

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” he whispered, shooting a gleeful look towards Professor Sprout who was lingering by the table next to theirs. A splatter of water erupted from the tip of his wand and dampened the firework’s fuse, Laurel was confused for a moment until she remembered that Fred and George tended to prefer wet-start fireworks—Mrs Weasley had supplied them with a limited amount of fireworks after they promised not to play with fire again. Percy had never quite forgiven them for burning his eyebrows off when they had been experimenting with their father’s stolen wand.

The fuse on the firework wiggled dramatically as the water crawled hastily upwards, until it disappeared under the edge of the Puffapod. Laurel and Cedric cringed and simultaneously pushed their chairs further away from the table in anticipation of the explosion. They were right to do so, as the firework promptly erupted in a brilliant flash of yellow and red sparks, the classroom exploded with squeals and screams as the Puffapod exploded on their desk.

Dozens of glowing, pink beans sprayed from the pod, the fragmented pieces of beans blooming into shredded, blush-pink petals the instant that they hit the ground, and whipping unlucky students in the face if they happened to be in the way. Laurel was assaulted with a dozen exploded beans in her hair and face, which had thankfully turned to the flowers promised by every Puffapod, though they were in many ruined pieces.

The greenhouse was a mess, in the middle of the wreckage stood Professor Sprout. As Professor Sprout looked around with wide eyes at the bed of shredded Puffapod flowers that covered the room, she seemed torn between anger and excitement—she had likely not seen a Puffapod opened with such frivolity.

“Who...did this?” Professor Sprout managed to squeak, her accusatory glare already turned to the sheepishly grinning Weasley twins.

“We did, Professor!” Fred and George chimed with pride, the offending firework was lying in the middle of their table, sitting in a puddle of slightly sparking water.

“How did I know that?” Professor Sprout said rhetorically, brushing her wild hair from her forehead with an exasperated sigh, “Well...all in good fun, I suppose. Your punishment will be to clean this mess up.”

The twins groaned, deflating to rest their heads against the table with two regrettably loud bumps. Orange hair turned soggy brown as it came into contact with the water oozing from the fizzling firework, a couple of Puffapod petals drifted through the puddle to artistically lay themselves amongst the strands of hair on George’s head as he and his twin rested in misery.

“That was insane,” Cedric muttered, Laurel looked over to see that his eyes were infinitely wider than they had been before the explosion, his hair was dusted with flower fragments. Laurel nodded her head lightly in agreement, still not used to the madness and mayhem that was the Weasley twins.

The firework spluttered one last spark, and the pile of muddy Herbology books tipped as the table shook, the topmost book landed with a heavy thump in front of Laurel. She leaned forward with curiosity to see that the pages had fallen open to reveal a page of yellowed parchment, decorated with navy blue ink that crawled dramatically across the page in a maze of vines and twining twigs. _Devil’s Snare_ , she read from the top of the page, and faltered at the coincidence. Another reminder of her plan to retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone...Laurel just could not seem to get away from the self-realised, overarching reason for her being here, though she supposed that might be a good thing— _encouraging initiative_ , and all that.


End file.
